Read Online Live to Tell by Wendy Corsi Staub - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Wendy Corsi Staub
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said—”
“Wait, what’s HR?”
“Homeroom.”
“Oh. Right.” Lauren wonders why that would be relevant to Nick, but doesn’t necessarily want to admit she doesn’t know. She must have missed something.
Why does she keep missing things? She needs to do a better job of staying on top of the mail, and the kids—
“Daddy said to tell Mr. Trompin he says hi and that he misses playing basketball with him.”
Oh—that explains it. Mr. Trompin is obviously one of the guys Nick used to shoot hoops with over at the park on Sunday mornings.
“Oh, and Daddy’s coming home tomorrow,” Lucy adds.
Lauren looks up. “What time?”
“He didn’t say. It doesn’t matter; we’re not seeing him until the next day. He’s picking us up for brunch.”
Sunday. Clearly, he’s going to miss half of his officially scheduled weekend visitation with the kids. Not that anyone other than Lauren seems to mind.
Well, she doesn’t mind , exactly. Now that Lucy and Ryan are home from camp, breathing a little life back into the house, she’s hardly anxious to spend an entire weekend alone here. Still…
You’d think Nick would want to rush back from the beach to be with them, after so much time apart. You’d think, too, that he’d at least check with Lauren to make sure he’s not screwing up her Saturday plans.
He would be if she had any.
Does he assume that she doesn’t?
Lauren thrusts the knife’s blade into the avocado.
Maybe she should actually make some plans, just to prove a point.
When Nick resurfaces, he’s going to get an earful from her—or maybe from her attorney. Yes, let no-nonsense Emerson Snyder—who’d come highly recommended by Trilby, who used him for her own divorce—straighten out Nick.
After all, you don’t just ignore court orders—and that’s what the custody agreement is…isn’t it?
Oh geez, who knows?
Lauren wishes she hadn’t been too distracted by her wounded heart to pay more attention to the legal arrangements. Maybe she’d have a leg to stand on now had she pressed Nick to stick to the visitation schedule from the beginning. But no, she’d gone along with his lackadaisical approach, happy to spare the kids that whole back-and-forth routine—and, all right, happy to have them all to herself.
“You don’t actually expect us to eat that, do you?”
Lauren follows Lucy’s gaze to the spongy brown spots on the overripe avocado.
“No, I don’t expect you to eat that.” She steps on the pedal of the trash can and chucks the whole thing. “Maybe we should go out to dinner. What do you think?”
“Because of a rotten avocado?”
Lauren shrugs. “Just because.”
“Really? We never go out to dinner anymore—I mean, not with you.” As soon as the last words leave her mouth, Lucy looks as though she wishes she could take them back.
Of course the kids eat out whenever they’re with Nick. Nick is the one with the job—and the one who can’t cook.
Lauren, who can cook—and in fact was marinating chicken breasts to go with the salad—suddenly doesn’t feel like it tonight. There’s not a breath of breeze at the open window, and the kitchen must be a hundred degrees. An air-conditioned restaurant—and a meal someone else cooks and cleans up after—couldn’t be more appealing.
“We’ll go down to Mardino’s,” she decides, reaching for Saran wrap to cover the half-made salad. “Can you go help Sadie get her sandals on while I clean this up?”
“Sadie’s still in her bathing suit. She’s watching The Wizard of Oz on TV.”
“What?”
Wait a minute—that’s right. When they got back from the pool, Lauren had told Sadie to go wait for her in the living room and watch television and she’d bring her some dry clothes.
And then I got busy in the kitchen, and I forgot. Terrific.
Lauren’s first instinct is to beat herself up over it—and to tell Lucy to forget about the dinner they can’t really afford when there’s perfectly good chicken in
“Wait, what’s HR?”
“Homeroom.”
“Oh. Right.” Lauren wonders why that would be relevant to Nick, but doesn’t necessarily want to admit she doesn’t know. She must have missed something.
Why does she keep missing things? She needs to do a better job of staying on top of the mail, and the kids—
“Daddy said to tell Mr. Trompin he says hi and that he misses playing basketball with him.”
Oh—that explains it. Mr. Trompin is obviously one of the guys Nick used to shoot hoops with over at the park on Sunday mornings.
“Oh, and Daddy’s coming home tomorrow,” Lucy adds.
Lauren looks up. “What time?”
“He didn’t say. It doesn’t matter; we’re not seeing him until the next day. He’s picking us up for brunch.”
Sunday. Clearly, he’s going to miss half of his officially scheduled weekend visitation with the kids. Not that anyone other than Lauren seems to mind.
Well, she doesn’t mind , exactly. Now that Lucy and Ryan are home from camp, breathing a little life back into the house, she’s hardly anxious to spend an entire weekend alone here. Still…
You’d think Nick would want to rush back from the beach to be with them, after so much time apart. You’d think, too, that he’d at least check with Lauren to make sure he’s not screwing up her Saturday plans.
He would be if she had any.
Does he assume that she doesn’t?
Lauren thrusts the knife’s blade into the avocado.
Maybe she should actually make some plans, just to prove a point.
When Nick resurfaces, he’s going to get an earful from her—or maybe from her attorney. Yes, let no-nonsense Emerson Snyder—who’d come highly recommended by Trilby, who used him for her own divorce—straighten out Nick.
After all, you don’t just ignore court orders—and that’s what the custody agreement is…isn’t it?
Oh geez, who knows?
Lauren wishes she hadn’t been too distracted by her wounded heart to pay more attention to the legal arrangements. Maybe she’d have a leg to stand on now had she pressed Nick to stick to the visitation schedule from the beginning. But no, she’d gone along with his lackadaisical approach, happy to spare the kids that whole back-and-forth routine—and, all right, happy to have them all to herself.
“You don’t actually expect us to eat that, do you?”
Lauren follows Lucy’s gaze to the spongy brown spots on the overripe avocado.
“No, I don’t expect you to eat that.” She steps on the pedal of the trash can and chucks the whole thing. “Maybe we should go out to dinner. What do you think?”
“Because of a rotten avocado?”
Lauren shrugs. “Just because.”
“Really? We never go out to dinner anymore—I mean, not with you.” As soon as the last words leave her mouth, Lucy looks as though she wishes she could take them back.
Of course the kids eat out whenever they’re with Nick. Nick is the one with the job—and the one who can’t cook.
Lauren, who can cook—and in fact was marinating chicken breasts to go with the salad—suddenly doesn’t feel like it tonight. There’s not a breath of breeze at the open window, and the kitchen must be a hundred degrees. An air-conditioned restaurant—and a meal someone else cooks and cleans up after—couldn’t be more appealing.
“We’ll go down to Mardino’s,” she decides, reaching for Saran wrap to cover the half-made salad. “Can you go help Sadie get her sandals on while I clean this up?”
“Sadie’s still in her bathing suit. She’s watching The Wizard of Oz on TV.”
“What?”
Wait a minute—that’s right. When they got back from the pool, Lauren had told Sadie to go wait for her in the living room and watch television and she’d bring her some dry clothes.
And then I got busy in the kitchen, and I forgot. Terrific.
Lauren’s first instinct is to beat herself up over it—and to tell Lucy to forget about the dinner they can’t really afford when there’s perfectly good chicken in
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